Worthless trash
by TheMostPatheticNameEver
Summary: Matt's being left alone at Whammy's when Mello's going rampage mode and leaving the safe orphanage. How will he react? Mostly Matt's POV. MelloMatt in later chapters.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: **I own neither Death Note nor its characters. That's pretty obvious, since I'm posting this as a facfiction.

* * *

**Prologue**

I was alone once again. I had almost always been. Not that I ever wanted to, but I hadn't had a choice. No one had ever wanted to befriend me. Until **he **came, that is.  
He was special. If not in the other peoples' eyes, he was in mine.

Before we met, I had always told myself that there would never be a person who would actually **like **me. It was unlikely. And if I told myself that I wasn't worth it, maybe the fact wouldn't hurt as much. Maybe the pain of being worthless would go away? **Right?**  
Still, I couldn't let go of the foolish little hope that someone **someday** would notice me, and like me, for the one I was. And when that day finally came, I was sincerely happy for the first time in a very long time.  
But in the end, he left me, just as everyone else did. In fact, when I thought about it, I found it surprising that he hadn't ditched me earlier. For he couldn't be with me because he enjoyed my company, could he? That would be hilarious.

When he left – craving revenge for his recently dead idol, L – I went back being as introverted as I was before, just much more extreme.  
Eventually, I stopped eating, I couldn't stand leaving our, no… **my **room. All the others' would whisper things about me.  
They thought that I didn't hear them, but I did.  
And the glances, those were even worse. People stealing glances at my pitiful figure, and some of the more daring ones staring openly at me. God, what I hated that.

I stopped playing my precious game boy – the one that Mello got me for my ninth birthday – surprisingly, I didn't feel like it – I didn't even know why. I just was there, lying on my back in Mello's old bed and looking up at the ceiling and let my tears roll down my cheeks.  
But instead of seeing the dirty roof with all its cracks and spider webs, I saw memories, happy memories, of the two of us.  
I felt so pathetic; I hadn't even tried to do something about him leaving. I knew that he hadn't told me, and that he would never let me come with him.  
I knew that there wasn't much I **could **do, but **damn**, what I felt weak.  
After some time of more or less just sitting there, not even crying anymore: the tears had abruptly stopped after 24 hours constantly crying, Roger knocked firmly once more on my door.  
I didn't do as much as glance at the locked wooden door, I was used to his, Linda's and sometimes even Near's begging by then. "Matt, could you please open up the door? You have to eat something!" he said, on the verge to panic.  
He sure wasn't able to handle this kind of situations. I wonder why he even was allowed to take care of an orphanage at all, as useless as he was. I snickered at what I'd just thought but fell silent right after.

However. Not many days later, I passed out, and had to go by ambulance to the nearest hospital. "sleep- and food deprived" they said. But I knew that the major problem wasn't my physical condition, but the emotional pain I had to endure, even if it was carefully masked under the inexpressive facade that I so skillfully had set up.

This kept going on some time forward. Sure, I ate when it was absolutely necessary, I didn't want to risk dying by starving, but that was about it.  
Moreover, there were these hormonal older guys who always picked a fight with me whenever I left the room.  
I became their personal punching bag since I didn't bother to fight back, nor had the energy to, just for the sake of impressing some girls whom seriously looked like underaged whores.  
Not that I cared, I didn't feel the punches as clearly when I thought about something else, and, my appearance didn't take any damage, it wasn't good, with or without the bruises and scars they gave me.  
In fact, I looked like shit: I had always been pale, but now it was more of a sickly pale, I was terribly skinny and the effects of barely sleeping were obvious. And all that because of a guy who wouldn't care at all. The irony of life, huh?

I left Wammy's about one and a half year after **he **did, determined to find him, and either get a rejection shoved right in my face, or being allowed to at least see him time to time. Either way I would meet him once more.  
I know it was selfish, and I know that I shouldn't do that, but I still did.  
I packed some clean clothes, my game boy, a little food I got from stole from the kitchen and the "emergency money" I'd been saving for, guess what, emergencies – I counted it to roughly 300 pounds. After that, I just walked unnoticed out from the house and through the huge iron gate.  
It was in the middle of the night, and I went up sleeping on a bench in a park, with my belongings tucked beneath my head, as a pillow.

**… And that's when my new life begun.**

**

* * *

**Well, it's my first fanfiction chapter **ever**, so don't have too high hopes. And, I'd be happy if you could click the 'review' button.  
If I've made any wrong spelling or grammatical wrongs, please tell me, 'cuz It'd feel better knowing it, and then fix it ^^ And, you'd make me happy if you would like to tell me what sounds fucked up, and things you'd like me to add :D

And, oh, yeah! This is the prolouge of the facfic, and I know that it's written in a whole different way than the other chapters. You will see that later, when I'm done with the next one. So, the writing style is going to change a bit ^^


	2. Chapter one

**Disclaimer: **I down own Death Note, nor it's characters. Just this fanfiction.

* * *

**Chapter One**

The screen on the handhold game the read head hold in his hands flashed in fancy colors and the bright text "Game Over" popped up. Frustrated, he turned it off and tossed it at the other end of his bed.  
The gangly young man stood up, running a hand through his entangled auburn hair before slowly walking towards the only window in his messy bedroom.  
He rested his elbows on the wooden window sill while looking at the view. Not that you could call a dirty backyard a view.  
He'd gotten the apartment for a small sum of money each month, so he wasn't in a condition to ask for more than he already had.  
The striped-clad man pulled out a cigarette and lighted it before opening the window and exhaling slowly, looking at the smoke as it vanished into the air.

Then, all of a sudden, the phone rang: one, two, three times. First, Matt tried to ignore the signals – he had wanted that damn smoke for a long time by then – but realized soon that it was too annoying to easily ignore.  
He sighed deeply and flicked out the newly lighted cancer stick though the window and down on the ground below after putting it out on the outer wall.  
Muttering something that sounded suspiciously like "not even getting to take a fucking smoke" he made his way to the phone.  
"Yeah?" he snarled into it, his somewhat good mood gone with the cigarette, and tapped his long, pale fingers impatiently against the desk while waiting for an answer.  
After a while, just when he was about to hang up on whoever it was, he heard a familiar voice. A voice that he hadn't heard in years, "Matt?" it said, just loud enough for the irritated young man to catch.  
At first he couldn't place the voice, and was on his way to ask the person who the hell he was, when it hit him. "M-Mello?" he whispered, his stomach suddenly felt uneasy, he wasn't sure if he dared to believe that it really was his long-lost childhood friend.  
Well, not exactly childhood friend. As much as he knew, he had never been blonde's friend, even if Mello had been his.

Mello begun to talk again, slowly, his voice strained and barely a whisper, "I need you to do me a favor" he said simply, as if stating "the sky is blue".  
He didn't give the read-head any chance to either say anything or trying to get what was going on. Instead, he told him that he needed a ride, quick, the address where he was at the time being, and then hung up on him.  
The now very confused young man stood there a few seconds, dumbfounded, still with the phone in his hand, before writing down the address on a piece of paper, and then stomp his way towards the kitchen, where his car keys laid on the kitchen table.

What rights had **he** – who had just left him all alone, without either saying goodbye or explaining why, not even leaving a goddamn letter – to suddenly call him, when his life finally was in order, or at least somewhat in order, and order him around just like he had when they were younger?  
That's right:** none. **And still, he obeyed. He got why the other kids at Wammy's called him "Mello's dog".

The striped-clad man angrily grabbed the keys off the table and ran out from his shabby apartment, because even though he was pissed, he knew that something was going on, otherwise he wouldn't have received that call. He hadn't been third at Wammy's for nothing.

Matt closed the door to his precious car with a bang. While he started the car and stepped on the throttle he took out a cigarette with the one hand he didn't use to drive and placed it between his pale lips, then lighted it and took a deep breath.  
As soon as the nicotine begun to flow within his body he relaxed a bit, but that didn't hinder him from breaking the speed limit.

When he had been driving for about ten minutes – around half the time it would have taken to drive to the given address, if driving legal, the goggle-clad man discerned a pillar of dark smoke rising from the outer urban districts, just a few kilometers away.  
Without thinking he sped up even more, hoping that the police wouldn't take notice of him. Without slowing down, he checked the paper where the address was written down; he looked up at the thick cloud of smoke, which just grew bigger for every second.  
"Fuck", the anxious read head crumpled the piece of paper that he still hold in his hand and pursed his lips together, begging for his life that he was wrong.  
When he came closer, though, his fears were confirmed: the place he had been given was somewhere close to where the dark could-like smoke came from. And since it was Mello, the chances of it being the same place were huge.

* * *

Here it is. The first chapter. In fact, I've been almost done with this for some time by now, so it'll take a long time for me to write the next chapter . I never just seem to get it right. And since I don't have a beta, I gotta read it through loads and loads of times.  
However, I'd be happy if you'd review, criticize or giving me tips about how I could do it better. :D  
And, I know that the chapters aren't long, but, I do my best. C:

* * *


	3. Chapter two

**For you who doesn't like yaoi, shounen ai, gays, boyxboy, or whatever you wanna call it, don't read. Sure, it's in later chapters, but there will still be some.  
And, you can find it on DeviantArt, if you're interested, just tell me.**

**This, my ladies (and gentlemen), is beta-ed by Dlvvanzor, who also is an awesome writer. Check out her profile!**

**Dislaimer: Don't own, don't want.

* * *

**

**Chapter Two (I'm sorry that I don't have any flashy names on the chapters):**

The auburn-haired jammed the brakes and quickly hopped out from the car.  
He could hear the sirens in the distance. He had to hurry, that was for sure.  
He pulled the orange-tinted goggles down in front of his eyes, to cover them from the stinging smoke.  
Quickly surveying the blazing area, he ran towards the building, where he could hardly make out the form of a person through the suffocating smoke. When he got closer, he could see a hint of light hair and dark clothes. Mello.

He cringed by the sight of Mello's torn and tattered body. There were second-degrees burns all over his body, some parts in worse condition than others, one of them being his face. And there was blood. Lots of it.  
Matt constrained himself not to throw up right then and there by the image of his friend's mangled figure.  
As fast as he could, without adding too much pain on his comrade's behalf, he helped the more or less unconscious man to his car.

He heard the sirens wailing closer. The time was running out.

Forcing down the panic that threatened to boil up, he walked as fast he could towards his car, but the dead-weight leaning on his right shoulder didn't help at all.

No time. **No time.**

At last, they made it to the car. Gingerly, Matt lowered the body of the now unconscious man onto the backseats, where he could lie down. Then he climbed in on the driver's seat and started the car, begging to whoever wanted to listen that they both would make it from there and back to his rundown apartment without any difficulties.  
Lighting another cigarette as a replacement as the one he'd dropped without noticing, he pulled out on the road that led to the center of the city.  
Just a minute later, he saw the police cars, ambulances and fire engines. Taking a slow breath, he forced himself not to do as his intuition told him to: step on it. Luckily, he wasn't pulled over and could drive home without further complications.

After what felt like an eternity, he pulled up outside his ramshackle apartment. For once, he was glad that he lived in one of the areas where the streets often were empty of people.  
He put out the cancer stick and climbed out from the car.

Eventually, he made it up the stairs to his apartment without being seen.  
The stupid elevator was broken, so he had to carry the somewhat bigger man. It was not an easy task, especially not for a person like him, whose only trained muscles were those in his fingers, those that he used when typing frenetically on the keyboard when hacking or when he played his beloved video games.

When the blonde chocolate-addict lied rather comfortable on the only bed, Matt tried to once more look at the wounds to get an idea of the damages. He shouldn't have done that. It all resulted in him running to the bathroom and emptying his poor excuse for a breakfast into the ceramic toilet.  
As soon as he felt ready to look at the damages again, he went back into the bedroom with a first-aid kit, which, so far, had never been used.  
He booted up the laptop standing on the floor in front of the sofa.  
While waiting for it to start up, he lighted one more of his dearly loved cigarettes and took a deep, calming breath. Then he opened up Firefox and searched in Google for "How to treat a burn". He clicked on the first link and hoped there would be a proper explanation how to do it. For honestly, he had no idea at all.

"Okay. Here we go…" the ginger boy mumbled, he just couldn't stand the silence, "…'Call for emergency services immediately'? That's out of question… Can't risk anyone recognizing him."  
He went on to the next item, "So… Remove all clothing but the ones on the burns, huh?" he said and stood up, heading for the kitchen where his one and only pair of scissors were.  
He couldn't help but wonder what Mello would say about Matt cutting his clothing into pieces. But then again, he wouldn't be able to use that leather again anyway.  
Back with the scissors in his hand, he went straight towards his bed, where Mello was out cold. The striped-clad gulped and glanced at the burns, inhaled the nicotine-laced air, and then started to cut away as much of the leather as he could without touching or looking at the burned areas.  
Using the zipper was something he never thought of. Besides, zippers are overrated.

He put away all the smelly pieces of leather on the floor and went back to his computer. "Hmm. Applying compresses, no ice" he muttered under his breath and walked away, once more, to the kitchen, this time with a compress taken from the first-aid kit in his hand.  
In kitchens, you can find both water and ice. Just that he wasn't supposed to use ice as a treatment for the burns.  
That's what the internet said anyway, and everyone knows that internet never is wrong. Right?  
The goggle-clad man wet the compress with cool water, squeezed the cloth so it wouldn't drop, and made his way to the side of his friend.  
Pushing up the goggles on his forehead to make his view clearer, he placed the wet compress where the burns looked nastiest.

"Fuck, Mello..." The young man felt a tear running down his cheek, what would happen if Mello wouldn't make it? Now that he finally got him back, would he leave again?  
It really did hurt seeing his usually lively friend like that, but somehow, it made him more human.

Matt fixed more compresses to lay at the injuries. He followed the instructions and didn't leave them on for more than a short amount of time.

With shaking hands, the auburn-haired teen checked Mello's airway, breathing, and circulation, he felt like an utter moron not doing so earlier. Good thing everything seemed to be in order. And as much as he knew, the other didn't appear to be in shock. But then again, he was unconscious.

Matt went to the bathroom, checking the cabinets and drawers for anything, mostly painkillers and other things that would come in handy. A brand new toothbrush, someone?  
At last he found some painkillers, sleeping pills and an anesthetic cream of some sort. He put two painkillers on the bedside table together with a glass of water, and the rest of the things in his pocket.

* * *

**the site Matt finds is real - the one about how you treat burns - and if you do what he did, you'll be able to find it. Just Google it.**

**Special thanks to last chapter's reviewers:  
****BrittanyHarmon13  
Dlvvanzor**  
**Miss Hal Gibson  
YaoiFreak-0ww0**


	4. Chapter three

**For you who doesn't like yaoi, shounen ai, gays, boyxboy, or whatever you wanna call it, don't read. Sure, it's in later chapters, but there will still be some.  
And, you can find it on DeviantArt, if you're interested, just tell me.**

**This, my ladies (and gentlemen), is beta-ed by Dlvvanzor, who also is an awesome writer. Check out her profile!**

**And, oh yeah! I noticed just now that I had written "chapter three" in last chapter, which is actually chapter two. I was like "WTF?", but, well. It's fixed now ^^**

**Dislaimer: Don't own, don't want.

* * *

**

**Chapter Three:  
**

The next morning, the poor redhead hadn't slept a wink.  
What if Mello would wake up in the middle of the night, or if he somehow stopped breathing?  
Also, even if he **had **tried to sleep, he surely wouldn't be able to; because even though he was exhausted, his worries would keep him awake. Worries about the possible death of the chocolate addict lying in his bed.  
So, there he sat, on a not-so-comfortable wooden chair beside the bed, looking at the peaceful face of his best friend. What he called his best friend, anyway, he wasn't sure about Mello.  
Now and then Matt would check on the other, just to satisfy his needs of knowing that the unconscious man hadn't died during the few minutes he had allowed himself a moment's peace. Talk about being paranoid.

The blonde man was still out cold a few days later, and his auburn-haired friend hadn't slept for more than a small number of hours during those days.  
Beside the wooden chair, a half-full cup of now cold coffee stood, along with countless cigarette packs, all lacking the original contents.  
The striped-clad young man could laugh for happiness that he got instant coffee in his almost-empty kitchen. For the kitchen drawers and cabinets were at a loss of food, and he didn't want to take a fast trip to the gas station some blocks away to fill up his stock of nicotine and get some real food, food other than the instant cup-o-noodles he had found lying forgotten in the very back of one of the cabinets.  
So, because of the lack of food in the apartment, Matt had hardly eaten since the day he got the call.

Now and then Matt would doze off, just to, not much later, wake up and scold himself for being so irresponsible; just how could he sleep when there was a person that might need his help?  
He looked tiredly at the peaceful form of the pale man, then he made a quick trip to the kitchen to get a new and warm cup of coffee. Without that addictive drink he would have passed out on the floor long ago, seeing as how he hadn't gotten much sleep the last days either.  
He got back with a cup filled to the brim of black – totally disgusting – coffee in his hand; a cup he almost dropped when he noticed that one of the other male's eyes was open.

The goggle-clad man quickly put down the coffee and rushed to the other's side.  
"How are you feeling?" he then said, relieved that the blue-eyed man had woken up. His voice was raspy by not using it for some time. He cleared his throat, and when Mello didn't say anything he pointed at the bedside table. "You've got some painkillers and a glass of water over there, and if you want me anything, I'll be around." He smiled softly and stretched before walking into the kitchen, the cup full of gross liquid in his hand, to raid the cabinets once more for edible things; as if checking again would prove differently.

When he got back, victoriously holding a piece of hardened bread in his hand, Mello was sitting up with an empty glass in his hand and the painkiller nowhere in sight. Good thing.  
Matt sat down on the stiff chair and begun to nibble on the bread, staring out in the air. Sometimes he would take a sip of the yucky black drink or adjust the goggles hanging around his neck, as he often did when nervous.

At last, Mello's voice broke the silence, "So. What've you been up to?"  
With that question, memories of a past event fluttered past the ginger's sight.  
He was once again a poor little boy; a boy whose only wish in life was to his friend to return; the one and only friend he had had; the one that abandoned him for revenging his dead role model.

_The chair fell on the floor with a clattering sound, his feet dangling just above it.  
Soon, he wouldn't have to endure anything anymore; no crying himself to sleep every night; never again getting the exited feeling every time he caught a sight of yellowish hair and then, when he realized that it wasn't __**him**__, feeling the lump in his stomach growing heavier. No more days hiding in the shade, trying to forget about the happy moments they had shared. Because they hurt. They hurt __**so much**__.  
But then, just when his lungs begun to ache, craving air, he heard footsteps hurrying their way towards his room. But instead of walking past it, the door burst open and someone rushed to his aid. All he saw and felt before he blacked out was a blurry figure, lifting him up and slipping the rope off of his head._

Matt shook his head to get those memories from his mind, "nothing much" he said as nonchalantly as he could, lifting one hand to his throat, where the rope had been gnawing many years ago. He hadn't been able to talk properly for some weeks.  
Once again, his mind showed him an earlier episode from his life, this one sometime after he had left the protective walls of Whammy's.

"_You feel good, don't you? As the slut you are." one of the men surrounding him, where he was lying on the table, wrists and ankles each tied to its legs, said while thrusting into the poor boy.  
He had screamed, cried, and been trying, in vain, to get out from there. Away from the men and all the things they made him do.  
The man plunged into the young boy again, encouraged by the others standing there, doing nothing but watching the auburn-haired boy's penetration; just __**standing **__there with hungry, lustful eyes, waiting for their turn.  
And the knife. Yes, the knife. How could he forget? He still wore the scars that he'd been marked with that knife – by __**those **__men._

"You're lying." It wasn't a question, but a statement. The blonde young man glared daggers at the room's other occupant, waiting. Waiting for an answer for his first question that he knew he wouldn't get.

"So what?" Matt snapped, "What is it to you?" The glare he gave etched itself forever into Mello's mind.  
His goggles, that usually never let anyone look into his eyes, that betrayed the feelings of his, hung around his neck.  
**God**, how he missed them. He felt naked without them protecting his eyes; protecting his soul from being looked upon.  
When the slightly older man didn't answer, he kept going. "It's not like you would care, right? After all, you left me, and didn't even give me a message, a **hint**, that you were alive. No 'hey, I'm not dead, so don't worry'. During **all these years **I fucking though you were **dead**! So don't fucking give me the shit about you actually caring!"  
His eyes were dry, though he felt the urge to cry. He didn't want to be there and he didn't want to scream at Mello, for he surely didn't want Mello to leave him. Again.  
The chocolate lover narrowed his eyes, he had never been one to know when to shut up, and he certainly didn't know now. "Have you ever thought about that it actually was your own fault that I left you behind, have you?!" he said, his voice increasing for each word he said, his eyes like raging fire. "Have you ever considered the thought about you being so fucking **annoying **all the **fucking time** made me go by myself, **huh**?!"  
When an intense pain flickered past the redhead's eyes, all the blonde wanted to do was to beg for forgiveness, but as usual, his pride wouldn't let him.  
The emotion was gone from Matt's eyes as sudden as it had appeared. Hidden by the usual mask of his.  
"…I-I'm going out" he said quietly and walked off before his so-called friend was able to say anything more.

* * *

**If truth to be told, I based these flashbacks on a novel, not fanfiction, I'm writing for my english class. So, I think 'bout one sentence is almost exactly the same. Shame on me .**

**Special thanks to last chapter's reviewers:  
ShinigamiMailJeevas  
Miss Hal Gibson  
Dlvvanzor  
YaoiFreak-0ww0  
Mia-Gabriella**

**Please, do review! I get so happy (pathetically happy, actually) whenever I see that someone's written me one! ^w^  
**


	5. Chapter four

**Hello again!  
**

**First of all, I gotta say sorry for not having it posted earlier. I know that it's a lame excuse, but I've been busy with school. My teachers just LOVE to put all these big tests and shit the same week. I hate it.**

**Sooo, anyway. I've been almost done with this for about... a long time by now, and I feel stupid for leaving it there, looking lonely and sad on the desktop, when I just gotta write a few hundred words more. Silly me.**

**Disclaimer: (insert optional disclaimer here.)**

**So, on with the chapter.  
**

* * *

**Chapter four**

"_Have you ever thought about that it actually was your own fault that I left you behind, have you?!" he said, his voice increasing for each word he said, his eyes like raging fire. "Have you ever considered the thought about you being so fucking __**annoying **__all the __**fucking time**__ made me go by myself, __**huh**__?!"  
When an intense pain flickered past the redhead's eyes, all the blonde wanted to do was to beg for forgiveness, but as usual, his pride wouldn't let him.  
The emotion was gone from Matt's eyes as sudden as it had appeared. Hidden by the usual mask of his.  
"…I-I'm going out" he said quietly and walked off before his so-called friend was able to say anything more.  
_

The scene replayed itself before Matt's red trimmed eyes. It had been awhile since he had felt as heartbroken as he felt right now.  
The redhead took a long, almost painfully, slow drag on the fag he had brought a packet of on his way to the local park he found himself in. He sat on an old, abraded bench, its green color weared, holding the cigarette between his index- and long finger.  
Shakily exhaling the grey smoke, he sadly looked at the people around him; couples, friends, parents and their children.  
Wherever he looked, his eyes always got stuck on people who cared about each other, who laughed and talked happily with one another.

**He couldn't stand it.**

They kept reminding him of what he had never had, for it all had been nothing but an illusion.

**It was all just a lie.**

He had never had the friend he thought he had had.  
Those 'happy moments' of his were as false as the lies he oh-so-often told himself at night, to avoid crying himself to sleep, which he did anyway.  
Yes, everything he had believed in had been nothing but lies.

Tears once again began to roll down the ginger's cheeks.  
He didn't bother to wipe them away. More salty tears would just take their place.

At last, the young man had calmed down enough to actually think about it. Mello surely didn't want anything to do with him.  
Before **that** call, the blonde had probably had the redhead's phone number for some time, in case he needed a loyal dog once again.  
Hadn't it been what all the other people had called him at Whammy's? Mello's dog. His doormat.

Matt could not avoid going back to his apartment; it didn't matter how much he wanted to just walk away. He had things worth a fortune in there.  
But it wouldn't hurt if he didn't come back until later that night, Right?

Right.

* * *

Mello still sat on the couch where Matt had left him, staring off into space. He would never learn how to keep his mouth shut, would he?  
What he said hadn't been true. He hadn't left Matt because of his clinginess, and it hadn't been the redhead's fault.  
No, the reason that he left without him was because he didn't want to jeopardy the other's safety; it had been enough to risk his own.

He'd wanted the redhead to keep the naivety of his. How stupid of him: it was as good as lost as the role model of most kids at Whammy's died.

Not much was left of the happy ginger, the memories of whom Mello kept close to his heart.  
His smile was now strained, too knowing of the terrible world surrounding him.  
His eyes weren't as lively, the spark in them long gone.  
The bags beneath his eyes told tales about the countless sleepless nights.  
The hardly noticeable slouch of his showing whoever looked carefully the too big burden being nestled on his shoulders.

The blonde had never told his game-obsessed friend goodbye, out of fear of not being able to leave if he did.  
Neither had he left a message, because there was nothing left to tell the younger boy.  
All he had wished for was to not to brake the little boy's heart; but with one look at his older self, he knew he'd done exactly that.

* * *

Later that night, when the sky was pitch black and the temperature had dropped a great deal, the sleep-deprived young man walked in through the apartment door, hoping that the injured one had gone to bed. He really didn't feel inclined to face Mello. Not after what he'd told him.

Matt looked around the seemingly empty apartment with red-trimmed and puffy eyes and let out a breath he didn't even know he had been holding when he saw no blonde tuft of hair.  
When he heard some ruffling from the old, stained couch he gave a startled jump.

"Where have you been?" the blonde asked harshly and glared daggers at the poor redhead, something that made the striped-clad man flinch and take a step back. "…S-sorry…" he said, wondering why he found himself apologizing. It was probably out of habit.

"I… I don't wanna talk to you right now," he said quietly. He didn't bother to hide the tears threatening to spill over, nor did he hide the pain and betrayal that were so clear in just the slump of his shoulders. His whole being radiated sadness, despair, and confusion.  
But it was most visible in those intoxicating, green eyes of his; dull, lifeless, and glazed with unshed tears.  
The broken redhead staggered towards the bedroom – the bedroom where the one and only bed was to be found – before Mello could say or do anything, leaving what he had once called his friend behind on the old, sagged sofa.  
Slowly, and only just audible, Matt closed the door behind him.  
With that action being done, something broke inside him. His legs doubled up and he slid down the wooden door, his back pressed against it, quietly sobbing. He buried his face in his knees that were drawn up to his chest, his arms encircling them, shaking violently.

What had he done?  
He surely hadn't been looking for the one and only person he had ever cared for just for… **this.**  
Just to make him leave again.  
Just to feel his heart being ripped into small pieces.  
Just for… nothing at all.

**What had he done?  


* * *

**

**  
So, whaddya think? Like it? Love it? Wanna tell me what's good and what's not? - Review! Pretty please?**

**Special thanks to all the reviewers of last chapter (and Dlvvanzor, of course):**

**Miss Hal Gibson  
InnerShadow  
YaoiFreak-0ww0  
jinnabun  
**


End file.
